


Except for Tomorrow

by JetnessAffliction



Category: Zeta Gundam
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetnessAffliction/pseuds/JetnessAffliction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torres x Camille, after Reccoa's "KIA", drunk bros are actually not angsty R15</p>
            </blockquote>





	Except for Tomorrow

Camille knew it was a bad decision to go to the cafeteria. It was late, and there was hardly anything uplifting about the lump of synthetic carbohydrates and protein in front of him that hardly passed for an egg sandwich. He would have been better off sulking in his room after all, at least that was more familiar to him. The nearly empty mess hall was starting to feel surreal without the chatter of the other crew or pilots crowding out the dull hum of the halogen lights. It just wasn't the same without the toddlers running amuck, or Fa jumping out of her seat to catch them, or Mr. Wong throwing a fit over the salad, or Reccoa waving at him across the room before sitting down with Lt. Quattro.

There was a lump in his throat before he even bit into the sandwich. Reccoa would never wave or smile at him again. There would be no more scolding or teasing from her. Reccoa was officially KIA, and no one- least of all Lt. Quattro- was willing to go search for the body. She was floating in dark, endless space while he sat there, placed the sandwich down solemnly, and tried to squeeze away the stinging that lingered in his fist.

"Hey, Camille..." 

Even Torres' usually obnoxiously loud voice was strangely muffled to a sigh. Camille turned around. Torres looked the way Camille felt; drained of energy and, for the moment, completely useless. Four cold cans of light beer clattered out from the operator's arms onto the table, nearly rolling off. "I can't sleep either," Torres explained, assuming, and sat down across from Camille.

Camille didn't bother looking up when he heard a can open. He grabbed one and held it to against his fist. The sudden icy sensation was exactly what he needed to ease the faint throbbing and Torres's imposing presence was at least familiar enough to loosen the lump in his throat. But he still didn't feel like getting back to the sandwich. Instead, he just watched idly as the older teen downed one can, set it aside, then reached for a second. Surprised, Camille asked suspiciously "Are you an alcoholic?"

"Of course not..." Torres answered a bit too quickly while he opened the second can. "Just... on days like this, y'know..?" But he slowed down, drinking the second in long sips instead of gulping it down like the first. His eyes darted from Camille's, down to the other untouched can between them, and back again. Then his leg jabbed at the sullen pilot underneath the table, qualifying as encouragement.

"This is stupid!" Camille kicked back under the table, but opened the can he was nursing his fist with. He tried a few fast gulps, ignoring the horrible taste and flow of liquid cold enough to burn as it went down. It took him twice as long as Torres, but he finished the can without a word, brought it down on the table just loud enough to echo. He shook his head violently for a second, trying to shake away more than just the bitter aftertaste.

The disgust was plain on Camille's face when he finally stopped, and Torres couldn't help a slight chuckle. "Yeah, this is stupid.." he admitted, a little less serious. He folded an arm on the table and rested his head on it. "But it takes the edge off. I'm too scared to sleep."

"Scared?" Camille opened the remaining can and took a slow sip, considering.

"I mean, nervous. Too nervous to sleep." Torres lifted his head up momentarily for another sip, following Camille. "Shut up, so are you."

"No, I'm just angry."

"Oh." Torres didn't bother asking details.

"I'm used to sleeping even if I'm scared."

Torres grunted in acknowledgement and didn't say another word, opting to work on finishing the second can. 

Camille was irritated. What did Torres have to be scared for anyway? he thought. Torres just sits on his ass, stares at blips on a screen and yells in everyone's ears when they launch. Had Torres ever been in a real mobile suit fight? Was he ever hurled so fast into 360-degree-panoramic abyss that his balls went to the back of his head? Was he ever tossed side to side in Zero G by ruthless Hizacks and suddenly caught point-blank with a Gabthley? Did the ghosts of faceless pilot's he'd killed wait for him to fall asleep so they could continue fighting him in his dreams? Did the sickening pang of self-disappointment eat him up every time he was a second too slow, too late to help a comrade? Camille gulped down the rest of his drink to keep from snapping at the other teen. What did Torres know about being too scared to sleep? Nothing.

"It feels like I'm losing my only family to those Titans bastards and there's nothing I can really do to stop them." Torres let go of the can and curled his other arm under his chin, rested his head there on the table and he looked a lot younger than he should. "Maybe if I was good enough to do more than just float around in a mobile suit I could back everyone up but..." He let the thought fade and moved on. "I can't believe they got someone as good as Lt. Reccoa...I mean I guess sometimes it doesn't matter how good you are out there."

Camille stopped drinking and set down the can, slightly ashamed at his own presumptions earlier.

"You too, Camille."

"I know, you don't have to remind me." He snapped back.

"No, I mean, if they get you too, then I don't think there'd be much hope for me. I don't think I'd ever recover from the shock."

"Is it because if I die, the Argama goes down?"

"Maybe..."

"Then I wouldn't have to wait long for you to catch up." Camille leaned back against the stiff plastic bench and the ship's simulated gravity did the rest, pulling him down as he brought his arms in closer, nursing his nearly empty can. Both teens let the droning hum of the lights and faint air cyclers finish off the conversation. 

 

*********************************************

Camille was pretty sure this wasn't his bunk, but then he felt a shocking wet sensation in his ear and warm breaths ghosting over the damp trail and he wasn't even sure he was the one cursing.

His fist balled up in the fabric of Torres' worn, red jacket and he pulled the older boy closer, groaning exaggeratedly with effort. Or that could be from whatever Torres was doing against his neck. It felt so good and his brain was too hazy to care about the distinction. "Jacket.. jacket--" he managed between urgent breaths.

Torres pulled back and snaked his hands over Camille's chest, tugging roughly and yanking layers of blue and black off.

"No, idiot- yours!" Camille exclaimed and squirmed as his shirt left him.

"You can be a real bitch when you're drunk, Camille.." But Torres just laughed and finished stripping the other boy, tossing the uniform somewhere it the darkness. He quickly got rid of his own jacket and shirt and resumed mouthing against the young pilot's neck. A bit too buzzed to find Camille's lips, he settled for sucking against the first pulse point he could find.

Camille wrapped his arms around Torres' back and locked the other against him, rolling them both onto their sides. It was the most he could maneuver before he felt their hips align and a sudden burst of hot pleasure broke through the haze. It was short and sharp and he whined and wanted it again.

"Ahff-fuck.." Torres gasped against damp skin and started rocking his hips in response after catching on.

They were both drunk and uncoordinated and lost in the moment with each other. Torres lead them with a hand pressed against Camile's ass as he concentrated on guiding them against each other, Camille was on autopilot, panting and rutting against him in demanding retaliation. Sloppy and rough and perfect. Reality narrowed into the grinding and pulsing sensations and neither could care about the echoing sound of the mattress creaking or the sweat, their next duties, tomorrow, death eventually.

Camille came first, back arched and mouth clamped over Torres' shoulder as the thrum of pleasure rocked through him, vibrations in the fog that was his entire body. Torres didn't last much longer and he groaned through it, hand still grasping over Camille's ass to keep the other boy in place. 

They relaxed slowly, heartbeats still pressed against each other just shy of synchronization, and minutes passed without either of them moving. Camille thought Torres had fallen asleep until the blonde shifted to a sitting position and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

"...Shit, I think I'm supposed to be on duty in an hour." He smiled dryly at Camille and flopped back against the bulkhead.

Camille would have rolled his eyes if they weren't already closed. There was a bit more squirming as he dug himself into the bedding and blinked up at his friend. "Hey, Torres.. about what I said earlier..."

Torres let out a sigh and opted to shrug rather than wait for Camille to finish his thoughts. "..Don't worry about it."

"Well I'm not moving for a while.." Camille let out a sigh as well which quickly melted into yawn. "So... If you're getting coffee, bring me some too."

Torres just laughed and tossed a pillow at the pilot. "Roger that."

**Author's Note:**

> archived from http://newtypebanana.blogspot.com/


End file.
